Blood Price
by M00nlightfox
Summary: Elizabeth never imagined a marriage of convenience, especially not to a family renowned for their capacity for cruelty. When she first meets Ramsay, her fears are confirmed but it's too late to escape. Enclosed in the arms of the Dreadfort, she has no choice but to learn a new life, learn how to appease her new Lord in every way possible. Ramsay/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Blood Price**

 **Chapter One**

The lake was red, as red as the girl's dress who skirted along the waters edge. The sky, a darkening pink streaked with scarlet that should otherwise be beautiful, was somehow melancholy. But that was alright, Elizabeth wanted company for her misery today.

Picking her way carefully over forest debris, she supposed that for any other woman, today would be the happiest the day of her life, or at the very least it would be a day of pride and perhaps relief, all fitting feelings for fulfilment of duty. But Elizabeth has never cared much for duty, a trait her father calls difficult, infuriating and responsible for his greying hair. She never cared much for decorum either, so when she heard the reason behind their hurried journey to Dreadfort -aptly named to her mind- she gave no thought to appearances when she fled the castle walls.

She was to be wed, to be sold off to the highest bidder with barely a thought and it was that callousness that had hurt. Her own house, House Smallwood, was far enough away that once married, she knew she'd be well and truly alone. If that wasn't bad enough, she was to become a Bolton, a house famous for their capacity for cruelty, her betrothed especially.

 _Betrothed_. A word that seems to lodge itself in Elizabeth's throat every time she tries to speak it. She's so angry that her breath is coming out quickly now, her chest tightening as she tries to hold back emotion. Leaning back against a tree, the bark is rough beneath her back but she doesn't care. Doesn't care either that it's more than likely dirtying her dress.

She's walked so far that she can longer see the towers jutting out from the trees like twisted arms or the lanterns that always seemed to be watching. That's the only thing that's giving her comfort now, as her mind becomes a whirl of reckless dreams of running away. She allows her imagination to run wild only for a second before she laughs humourlessly at herself. As if she could ever survive alone, free from family name and money. She has no marketable skills. When she sings, dogs howl and when she sews, well that's just too embarrassing to even attempt anymore.

Deep in her own thoughts, Elizabeth doesn't notice that the woods seem to have become silent, as if the trees are taking a deep breath; waiting. She doesn't notice movement behind her. Doesn't notice that she is no longer alone.

She paints an intriguing picture, a flustered girl in red amongst leaves of green and golds, stains creeping up her skirt and twigs tangled in hair that can't quite decide what colour it is. She looks almost comically out of place with her surroundings while also remarkably at ease with them.

A snapping twig breaks the picture, the sound reminding Elizabeth horribly that these woods are not familiar. With a startled scream lodged in her throat she forces herself to confront the sound, only to find a young man staring back at her with large, impossibly bright eyes. His skin is so pale against the quickly coming darkness, shadows falling on the planes of his face - a face which is more amused than surprised by her reaction.

It's his proximity that she is first aware of, the realisation of how close he had come forcing her to take a step backwards. Even with the distance she had created, he still seemed too close.

Drawing her cloak close, Elizabeth forces herself to stand tall. "Can I help you?" She asks imperiously, doing her best to impersonate her mother at her most daunting.

"Perhaps," is all he says, taking a step closer.

The amused twist to his mouth kept her from giving him the satisfaction of seeing her cowed, and yet the glint to his eyes was almost enough to convince her to run screaming for the hills. She had heard the stories of what happened to women foolish enough to be alone with a man at night and now here she stood with one that put the stories to shame.

When he strode even closer, her eyes fell to the bow held confidently at his side. As she started to back up, he pursued her, never once taking his eyes from hers. He was dressed for a hunt and Elizabeth suddenly got the idea that she was the prey.

"Who are you?"

He stopped at the sound of her voice. "Whoever you wish me to be."

"If you have any regard for what I wish, then you would be gone," she tried to keep her voice strong, assertive as if she were much more capable than she looked, but even she heard the scared warble at the end. By the look of things so did he, his smirk stretching into a smile that chilled her.

Without waiting for him to answer, Elizabeth suddenly turned in a rush of red and ivory satin and fled into the trees. She couldn't hear him chasing her, but she didn't take any chances. She ran as fast as she could, barely sparing a thought to the thorns that snatch at her skin as she passes. She didn't get far.

Finally releasing the scream that had been creeping up her throat, Elizabeth is yanked backwards from the grip on her forearm that seemingly comes out of nowhere.

"If you touch me again I swear my betrothed will flay you alive!" In his surprise her assailant suddenly lets her go. "These woods belong to the Boltons," she said, trying desperately to sound braver than she felt. "As do I. I'm sure I don't need to impress upon you just how furious Ramsay would be if I were harmed." At the mention of Ramsay, she hoped he would take off without a backward glance. He didn't, but at least he was no longer advancing toward her. Instead he was still watching her with those unnerving eyes.

"Please tell me more about this Ramsay," the name sounded strange coming from his lips, as if it were unfamiliar to him.

"He's worse than his father, much worse. They say he kills for fun so imagine his delight at finding you."

He smirks and Elizabeth watches as he runs his hand delicately along his bow, yet he still doesn't come any closer. "If this Lord is as awful as you say, why would he care about you?"

"Because he loves me!" She would have laughed if she had heard anyone else be so foolish as to use 'love' and Ramsay in the same sentence, but right now this fiction was all she had.

The last thing she expected was for him to laugh, although in hindsight she probably should. "I'm telling the truth"-

She cuts off when he's suddenly in front of her, surrounding her. Terrified, she shrinks away from him.

"Please don't touch me," she says in a small voice.

"I can't touch you?" He leans in closer, his face close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath. "But by your own admission you belong to me."

Scared, it took far too long for that statement to sink in and when it did, suspicion replaced fear.

"Am I to believe you are a Bolton?" She asked, surveying the stranger from head to toe. While his dress screamed wealth, there has been nothing noble in the way he had acted, commanding yes, but not noble.

"Is it that hard to believe?" He asks, amusement lighting his eyes.

"Creeping in the woods is hardly befitting a Lord."

"And trekking alone at night befits a lady?" She had no answer for that, but then he didn't expect one. "You're lucky I found you. Bad things happen to girls in these woods."

"You still haven't told me who you are."

"I thought that was obvious. I am Ramsay Bolton, your terrible and loving betrothed. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." With that he picks up her hand held loosely at her side, and places a whisper of a kiss, not on the top, but on her palm.

Startled, she snatches her hand away.

Ramsay Bolton. She was finally in front of the infamous bastard, the sharp lines of his face already confirming the tales of cruelty in her mind. She barely gets over her surprise before embarrassment floods her, as she recalls her using his name and professing his love for her. His smile, wide and wicked, said he was enjoying her discomfort.

"It warms me that you think so highly of me," he continues. "And here I worried ours was to be a marriage of convenience only."

Under his intense gaze, Elizabeth was suddenly aware of her dishevelled appearance. Except instead of righting it, she childishly hoped it may be enough to put him off. Still, she couldn't leave decorum behind completely.

Ignoring her surroundings, she dipped into a curtsy more suited to a castle, and raised her eyes to his. "The pleasure is mine my lord, I only wish we had met in more- appropriate surroundings."

Her fear hadn't disappeared, not completely. In fact she could still feel her heart thudding almost painfully in her chest every time he looked at her. Had he come into the woods to find her?

"I don't," he says with a smile that flashes teeth. "I hope our next encounters are as every bit as inappropriate as this one."

She didn't like the way he said that or the suggestion behind it. Betrothed or not, she was awfully aware that she shouldn't be alone with him. What is it her aunt had said about him? More wolf than any Stark and more hungry than any Targaryen dragon.

"Shouldn't we be getting back to the castle my Lord?"

"So soon?" His voice was soft, almost pleasant if it weren't for the smirk that accompanied it. The fear must have been obvious in her face for he rolled his eyes and said, "oh alright. It'll be my pleasure to escort you back."

With that, he places her hand in the crook of his arm and urges her towards what she hopes is the direction of the castle. Beneath her hand he is warm, his arm surprisingly muscled as they walked in silence.

As they broke from the trees and moonlight hits his face, she is surprised to find him handsome. His hair is dark with a slight wave to it and when he catches her staring, his eyes are a startling blue. She is not sure whether to be pleased or disconcerted about such a discovery. She had heard he was monstrous, so she had expected him to look monstrous too, or at least not so disturbingly appealing. It somehow made him even more of a threat.

There is a kind of careless elegance to the way he moves, a confidence that is both admirable and intimidating. She wants him to speak, to somehow seem more human or approachable, anything to lessen her anxiety at his side. She remembered what he had said about the woods being unsafe for girls and wondered if it was him that made it that way.

Born a Snow and made a Bolton. Sneaking another glance up at him, she couldn't help but think that Snow suited him more, suited his glacial eyes and expression of contempt. Not that she would ever tell him that of course. She had already been warned by her father that Ramsay does not take well to reminders of his illegitimacy.

When they find themselves at the gates of the Dreadfort that stretch open like a mouth ready to swallow them whole, the guards get one look at Elizabeth on Ramsay's arm and snicker as they pass. While it makes him smile, it makes her colour with embarrassment, imagining how it must look to others with her and Ramsay emerging together from the night. She knew she would have to explain to her mother before she got wind of this.

"What do you think of Dreadfort my Lady?" She was so startled that he finally spoke, that she almost tripped over her own feet.

"It's"- she paused for a word that wouldn't offend. "It's big."

"I suppose it is," he says with another flash of a smile. "Perhaps tomorrow I could accompany you on a tour of the grounds? It's not all cold walls and dark woods." She tried not to let her distaste at his suggestion show on her face, but it was hard under his scrutiny.

She opened her mouth to answer when thunderous barks drowned out her voice. The night was suddenly alight with growls, as teeth snapped at her as she passed.

Huge hounds, each of them as black as night, leapt at the gate that housed them and for a moment, Elizabeth forgot her fear of Ramsay. With a shout she moved closer to him, her side pressed up against his and her hand tightening on her arm. Her gaze was so focused on the hounds that she didn't see the almost hungry look on his face as he gazed down at her.

"Don't worry, they won't harm anyone with me," he said,his voice alarmingly close to her ear. She didn't move away though. The implication was clear; the dogs, his dogs would harm anyone who wasn't with him.

"I'm not usually scared of dogs," she says truthfully, as they depart. "But those ones seem particularly viscous." Like their owner, she thought as she glanced up at him. He said nothing, merely smiled as if she had paid him a compliment.

Despite her protests, Ramsay insisted in escorting her all the way to her chambers, a surprisingly airy room with a view of the lake. Although he was behaving courteously as he bade her goodnight, she couldn't forget the way he had stalked her through those trees.

After he left, the wicked promise behind his smile stayed with her all night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two**

While Elizabeth prides herself on her ability to confront her fears, she held no shame about her inability to leave her chambers. The morning was as grim as her mood and moving swiftly forward, time conspiring against her. She'd already shooed away her maid three times who pursued the task of taming Elizabeth's hair with relentless determination.

Sitting at the vanity table, Elizabeth stared into the mirror without really seeing, her hands fidgeting nervously. She knew she had been expected to join her family and the Boltons this morning, knew too well how angry her father would be at her absence. She had tried, she really did. But every time she was about to leave the door, the memory of cold blue eyes made her retreat.

With a sigh she pushes away from the table, wishing -not for the first time- that she was the kind of girl who valued wealth and influence over a genuine connection. Perhaps then she'd be content, ecstatic even, with her looming marriage. Perhaps then she may have ignored ever horrid rumour and tale that cast her betrothed as both star and villain.

Before meeting him her rational side had held out hope that they were exaggerations or lies born from jealousy. Now she had run out of hope.

A knock on the door makes her freeze. It's only her mother, Lady Alana who breezes in as the very epitome of elegance in a mass of pale pink. She doesn't smile when she sees her daughter, not even as she takes in the dark circles beneath her eyes.

"Where were you this morning?" Alana asks, lips tight and eyes sharp.

"I overslept."

"I suppose your late night excursion into the woods is to blame for that," she clucks her tongue disapprovingly. Elizabeth didn't look away, but she could feel her face flooding with guilt and embarrassment. "Don't bother denying it," she continues. "Lord Ramsay has already filled me in on how he was forced to go looking for you."

Elizabeth wanted to laugh at that. Whatever he was doing in the woods, saving her was not his primary goal. He looked as surprised to see her as she did him.

"Was anyone offended by my absence?" Elizabeth said, choosing not to even acknowledge last nights events.

"Your father most certainly was but really, when is he not offended by something? Your betrothed didn't seem to care too much," she replies bluntly. "I think he found it more amusing than anything, but then we were forewarned that he's a bit odd. Handsome though," she watches her daughter carefully for a reaction to the latter statement, slightly disappointed when there is none.

"I suppose so." Elizabeth finally turns her gaze, choosing instead to focus on the blanket of fog swallowing the trees whole outside.

"Oh for heavens sake why are you looking so morose? Your betrothed is handsome, rich, powerful."

"If you approve so much, feel free to marry him instead." Her mother isn't offended, instead she laughs shrilly, far too used to her daughters bluntness. With a pale hand she soothes back Elizabeth's hair in a comforting gesture.

"It will be alright you know Beth," she says, her voice much softer now. "If you give him a chance, I think you will find him much more human than the stories suggest."

"What if he doesn't deserve that chance?"

Alana looks away, her face thoughtful for a moment before she meets her daughter's gaze. They both have the same hazel eyes.

"Doesn't everyone deserve a chance?" She doesn't give Elizabeth time to answer. With one last smile she leaves, the smell of her perfume lingering behind.

Elizabeth didn't want to consider that question. She wasn't the type to judge a person quickly, but there was something about Ramsay that screamed at her to run. Although, she supposed grudgingly, perhaps that feeling could have been influenced by her own turbulent emotions. Was she being unfair? After all, it's not as if he had harmed her...

The baying of dogs pulled her from her thoughts. Leaving the courtyard below were three men atop horses, dogs eagerly running ahead. But it was the central figure that held her attention. Atop a huge, black stallion sat her betrothed - she had no doubt it was him. He didn't turn back or attempt to steal a glance at her window and as she watched him leave, she was filled with immediate relief. Looks like he no longer had any intention of giving her any tour today.

Feeling immediately safer, Elizabeth finally leaves her chambers. She has no destination in mind, only a desire to explore and cast off the gloom that had been surrounding her. She finds something of interest quickly, a huge library that is at least twice the size of her own back home. She only wished it were lighter and perhaps more welcoming. Still, her love of reading was too great for a little darkness to put her off.

Rushing forwards, she immediately envelopes herself in a world of books, her fingers tracing excitedly over the spines as she went. If she were to stay -and that was a big if in her mind- perhaps this place could be her escape. She could even suggest to Lord Bolton that more light wouldn't go amiss.

So swept up in the fantasy was Elizabeth, that she almost missed the shadowed figure huddled against the wall. It's a young woman, one with huge, almost owlish brown eyes that dominate her face and long brown hair. Her clothes are plain, a servants garb. When she sees Elizabeth, she stifles a gasp and jumps so violently that she drops all the books cuddled to her chest.

"I'm so sorry!" The girl says, quickly throwing herself to the ground in an attempt to gather the books. "Please don't tell anyone, I swear I won't ever come here again"-

She was terrified, that much was obvious. Her hands were shaking so much that she kept dropping things, her eyes darting from the floor to a mystified Elizabeth.

"It's alright," Elizabeth says quickly, reaching down to help. When she sees the awful progress the girl is making, she takes one of her shaking hands in her own to try and calm her. "Honestly everything is fine. Accidents happen"-

"It's not that my lady."

"Then I take it you're not supposed to be here?" The girl doesn't answer, merely takes off with a sound that sounds suspiciously like a sob, disappearing before Elizabeth can stop her.

Bewildered by such a quick encounter, Elizabeth's joy at finding the library is somewhat diminished. After replacing the stack of books, she heads outside, wanting to leave the oppressive walks behind her.

The courtyard is thankfully mostly empty and as she passes beneath an alcove, she tries not to stare at the banner that depicts a flayed man. Heading straight to the stables, she tries to remain as inconspicuous as possible, her head low and eyes at the floor. It doesn't work.

As soon as she nears, a guard stops her, staring down at her with cold, beady eyes. "Lady Smallwood," he says with a small nod of his head. "I've been informed by Lord Bolton to show you the grounds." She immediately took a dislike to him. His mouth had a natural downturn, as if smiling were alien to him, and his features that were too close together gave him an unfortunate pinched look.

"That's quite alright, I was hoping to take a look myself. Alone," she adds when that didn't deter him.

"There are dangers that make this impossible my lady."

"What kind of dangers?" When he didn't answer, just continued to stare, she quickly decided that maybe she didn't want to know. "Very well then, I'd be glad of your company." With an undignified roll of her eyes that defied her polite words, she pushes past and continues towards the stables.

She goes immediately towards her chestnut stallion, the horse that her parents presented to her three years ago on her sixteenth birthday. His soft nose presses against her side immediately, no doubt looking for the treats she always carried in her pockets.

She laughs lightly. "Not today Kahn."

"This is yours?" The guard asked, sounding suddenly unsure. She shoots him a sharp look that says she knows precisely why he is skeptical.

"Of course. Are you surprised that I don't ride a delicate little mare? Perhaps like that one for example," when she gestures to an old, speckled horse she swore that his lips twitched in amusement, just for a second. His reward is a smile, one that immediately lights up her face and catches him off guard.

After its saddled and another horse is prepared for her guard, Elizabeth ignored his suggestion of an easy-paced trot and urges Kahn into a gallop. She leads the way, and although he would never admit it out loud, he admired her skill with the horse.

Elizabeth didn't slow down until she was at the banks of the Weeping Waters that arched around Dreadfort. The castle itself looked much less intimidating from here; small and insignificant if only for a moment.

The fog was thicker here and for the first time, she was glad of the guards company. Despite his stubborn refusal to talk, she felt his presence at her side and that was enough. The ride itself had already made her forget about the servant girl in the library, had already etched a smile into her face that usually came so easy to her.

It was so quiet, the only sound being the horses hooves padding along the banks, slipping in the mud every now and then. Slower now, Elizabeth was starting to feel the chill and wished she had the foresight to bring a thicker cloak. If the guard felt similar, he didn't complain and nor did she ask. For someone who was supposed to be giving her a tour, he was doing a terrible job. She told him so with a teasing smile, one he didn't return, before dismounting.

"I don't suppose," she says, glancing over her shoulder. "That you would tell me anything about your Lord." She didn't particularly want to think about Ramsay right now and yet she also wanted to be prepared.

"You supposed right," comes a grudging reply.

"Is he a fair Lord?" She stopped to look at him, awaiting his answer eagerly. He stopped too but said nothing, his eyes just staring blankly into hers. "I'm going to assume for my own benefit that that means yes."

All she gets is a grunt in response so she continues walking, leading her horse carefully beside the rocks. Looking out to the water, she tries to picture what's on the other side, allows herself just a moment to imagine escaping there, running and running until she can longer see the Dreadfort, never having to belong to anyone let alone the Boltons.

She knew why her father had done it and knew too that it wasn't unusual for daughters to be used in men's play for power. The Bolton house was too large and too powerful for the Smallwood family to turn down, especially with no more guaranteed protection from House Tully. It was a dangerous time and Lord Roose was an evil necessity. She knew all this and yet it didn't make it any easier. Of course she wanted her family to be safe, but why must she be the pawn to achieve it? Ironically, she mused that if men were half as important as they thought, then why did their games always rely on a woman?

Irritated, she stops and flings a handful of pebbles into the water, wishing she had more power than conjuring tiny ripples. She flings another, forgetting for just a moment that anyone is there to witness her outburst.

She's about to turn around and apologise when barking drowns out her voice. With a start she realises that it's coming closer, growing louder and louder. And then she sees them, the hounds breaking through the trees, their huge and compact bodies running towards her.

A voice, sharp and sudden, calls them back. It's Ramsay, atop that huge horse that would look more suited to a battlefield than here. He angles his horse towards her and Elizabeth only had a few seconds of silent panic before he's there in front of her.

The dogs all stand near his side but the sight of so many is too much for Kahn who is stamping his feet angrily and tossing his head. Ramsay watches as Elizabeth tries to calm her horse but doesn't call them off. Merely stands and waits.

In the daylight she is much prettier than she had seemed before. With long wavy hair, pale skin and fearful eyes, she looks almost absurdly innocent. He wondered idly how long that would last for.

Elizabeth avoids looking at him for as long as she can, but when he dismounts and approaches, she gives up delaying the inevitable. He beats her to the greeting.

"What a pleasant end to a hunt," he says, peeling his gloves off like a second skin, with a smile. "It's lovely to see you again." In the same manner of last night, he lifts her hand and places a kiss atop the palm, this time lingering ever-so-slightly. She resists the urge to snatch her hand away, torn between distrust and something she didn't want to question too deeply.

"And you Lord Bolton," she says gracefully.

He smiles thinly. "Walk with me." It wasn't a request and as she went to cast a helpless look at her guard, she realised he was already half way back to the castle, dogs in tow. They were alone.

They left the horses where they were, his occasionally nipping at Kahn all the while. It was an oddly surreal moment, walking beside her infamous betrothed with fog enveloping them, but she tried not to let her nerves show.

"I apologise if I frightened you last night," he speaks first, his voice surprising in its softness. "That was never my intention." She was about to laugh at that until she caught his expression. He looked startlingly sincere, his eyes a clear blue.

"You didn't"-

"You don't need to pretend." He shoots her a smile, this time one that warms instead of chills her. "I'm well aware of my reputation."

"Does it bother you?"

He's surprised he didn't laugh outright at that question so innocently phrased. Instead, he tells her exactly what she wants to hear.

"Sometimes."

She looks at him in surprise, not-so-subtly studying his profile for signs that he was being anything but honest. If he was, he hid it well. Still, she wasn't a fool to be easily swayed by handsome smiles, at least that's what she kept telling herself.

"Do you know what would make me happy?" He says, glancing her way. "If we could forget rumours, start again and get to know each other. Wouldn't you like that?" He stops, his hand brushing against hers for the barest of moments, his eyes staring into hers. Their intensity was unnerving.

Would she like that? Not really. Although he was acting like a different person today, charming even, there was still something unsettling about him. But then, if she really was going to marry him, wouldn't it be easier if there was already an understanding there? She also couldn't help thinking back to her mothers remark about everyone deserving a chance.

Decided, she finally answers. "That would make me happy too."

He continued to charm her, his smile engaging as he asked questions about her family as if he were genuinely interested. He laughed in all the right places, sympathised in others until she starts to fell less uncomfortable beside him. He wasn't shocked by any of the outrageous stories she told or her boldness in them, instead he seemed almost impressed.

"And what of your sister?" He asks finally when she had run out of antidotes of her exasperated rather. "I hear she's younger than you?"

"Two years younger," Elizabeth answers, immediately conjuring her little sisters heart shaped face to mind. "Anna is a doting daughter; pretty, demure and sings like an angel." Ramsay falls silent, looking suddenly surprised by the obvious bitterness in her voice that defied her words. Before she can apologise he laughs, a surprisingly pleasant sound.

"She sounds utterly dull," he remarks, surprising her right back.

"She also paints - flowers of course."

"No," he says incredulously.

"And she sews in a straight line."

"What a monster." He looks so serious but there is a light to his eyes that makes her finally give in to the laughter. His answer is another smile that reminds her once more just how handsome he is.

His skin is pale, a striking contrast to his dark hair and the stubble that had begun to darken his jaw slightly. In his deep green hunting gear, he looked broad shouldered and masculine. Yes Ramsay was definitely appealing to the senses, but still not to her trust.

"So tell me about your family," she says awkwardly, aware that he had neatly avoided revealing anything at all about himself. Although his smile didn't fade, the light in his eyes immediately dimmed. It was then that she remembered he was born a bastard.

"My family is much smaller than yours and far less interesting," he answers, pleasantly enough yet all the warmth had been stripped away from him.

The silence that follows is so tense and uncomfortable, that Elizabeth says the first thing that comes to mind with the hopes of restoring the warmth.

"I take it the the hunt didn't go well?"

He looks at her strangely, as if surprised that she would speak. "Why would you say that?"

"Well you don't seem to have caught anything." He stops again and this time doesn't try to hide anything in his answer. She automatically shrinks away from the dangerous smirk on his face.

"Not today," he says.

Without another word, he takes her back to the horses and helps her into the saddle, all the while wearing that strange smile. He doesn't say another word until they're both outside Dreadfort, his horse stamping impatiently.

"This is where I leave you my lady," he says, gesturing to the gates. "I have some things to attend to." She doesn't try and argue it or question why, she is as eager to be rid of him as he seems to be of her. His hand on her wrist stops her from leaving. "I do hope to see you tonight at dinner though." She isn't listening. She's far too distracted by the spot of deep red on the backs of his fingers; blood so stark atop pale skin. He follows her gaze and smiles, offering no explanation.

Wasting no more time, Elizabeth turns in her saddle and urges Kahn away, suddenly wishing for the safety of walls. Against her better judgement she pauses at the stables to glance back. He's still there, a macabre shadowed figure sat atop a huge warhorse. She knows instinctively that he's watching her.

She's right, Ramsay Bolton watches her as she leaves the horse with the stable boy. Watches as she hurries inside the keep, almost tripping over her dress in her haste. It's only when she's safely tucked away that he dismounts his own horse and heads straight for the kennels.

No one stops him or even looks at him. He walks with the untroubled stride of a man who knows what he wants, which of course is exactly what he is. He finds it in a young, skinny woman that smells of musk and something even less attractive. The kennel masters daughter.

Myranda doesn't look up when he enters, she's too busy crooning at a hound whose muzzle is stained with blood. But she knows he's there, knows instinctively what he wants.

"Do you think she's pretty?" She asks, finally turning to look up at her Lord.

"Do you?" He counters.. She opens her mouth as if to answer, but doesn't get a chance. He pulls her into his arms so her back is pressed tightly against his front, his teeth nipping along her neck in a way that gives her shivers.

He's not gentle when he pushes her forward until she's resting against a damp, stone wall. Nor is he gentle when he fists his hand in her hair. But that's alright, she doesn't want gentle.

She moans when his hand finally delves into her dress, hand tracing up the inside of her thigh. "I take it the hunt went well?" She laughs at his enthusiasm, grinding her hips against him as encouragement.

In response he removes his hand from between her legs and yanks her hair, sharply pulling her face to the side. "I think you need another lesson as to when to hold your tongue. I'd cut it out if it weren't as talented." She isn't deterred by his sharp tone, nor his teeth that continue to leave bruises on her pale skin. His grip on her arms and waist was hard enough to leave marks and yet by the time he entered her, she was whimpering for relief.

Elizabeth watches Ramsay leave the kennels from her window, his eyes alight and his hair mussed. When a girl follows in his wake and smiles in satisfaction, she knows the reason. She can imagine well enough the way her fingers must have sank into his hair.

She didn't know whether to be relieved or angry. When she remembered the blood, she decided that relief was much more appropriate.

She's about to move away when Ramsay suddenly stops and turns, catching her in the act of staring. He doesn't look embarrassed to be caught out, or even guilty as his companion runs her hand up his chest with one last secret smile before disappearing back into the gloom. Instead, it almost looks as if he's daring her to comment on it with that familiar smirk on his face. It's then that she decides he must be crazy to have such different sides to him; either crazy or a very good actor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter three**

Elizabeth didn't go down for dinner that night, instead choosing the send down a maid that claimed she had taken ill. The day after was spent cloistered away in the library, the events of yesterday granting her a newfound appreciation of the quiet nature of darkness. No one disturbed her, not even her betrothed and she took company instead in a huge pile of books she had stacked beside her on the table.

Preparing for dinner was an awkward affair, made even more so by choice of the girl Ramsay sends up to assist her. Elizabeth recognises her right away as the girl she had spotted him with outside the kennels.

She barely pauses after she knocks, striding in with a boldness that surprised her. Even dressed in simple garb with her brown hair left plain and down, she looked more confident than Elizabeth certainly felt in that moment.

"Sorry for disturbing you," the girl said, in a way that managed to say she was anything but sorry. "Lord Bolton has sent me to assist you in any way you need for tonight." She smiles then, a wide smile that displays her teeth. It would be pleasant if it weren't for the unmistakable hatred in her eyes. It surprised Elizabeth, but only for a moment.

"What's your name?" She asks blandly, refusing to be intimidated. The girl meets her gaze steadily.

"Myranda my lady."

Elizabeth didn't know whether to laugh or get angry, not at Myranda, but at Ramsay's sheer nerve in sending her here. It was an outrageous yet calculated move, one that she was sure added to challenge he had dealt her. No doubt he expected her to remain silent, to be too dainty and polite to mention such things. As Elizabeth sends the girl off to prepare her a bath, she worries that he may be right.

When the bath is finally ready and Elizabeth submerges herself into the water, she gives a sigh of relief that Myranda's resentment didn't spur her on to fill the tub with cold water.

"What a pretty little thing you are," Myranda said, smiling nicely as she started to brush Elizabeth's hair.

"Thank you."

Her smile grew wider. "The others were pretty too though."

Elizabeth arches round to look at her, spilling the water slightly. "The others?"

"The other women Ramsay has lavished his attentions on"-

Elizabeth really did laugh then, the girl's intention far too obvious and misplaced. Confused, Myranda let the long hair fall and sat back uneasily. "Myranda," Elizabeth began gaily. "Your jealousy is unneeded here."

"Jealousy?" She did her best to look innocently surprised.

"Yes jealousy. I saw you with Ramsay yesterday and have already surmised the extent of your relationship - a relationship which is no business of mine."

Myranda really was perplexed now, narrowing her eyes on Elizabeth's face as if looking for any sign that she were lying. The young woman stared innocently back, a smile that looked genuine on her face.

"Are you going to send me away from the castle?" She asked, a sneer in her voice instead of the worry Elizabeth had been expecting. "Because I can tell you now Ramsay won't allow it."

"Why would I ask you to leave? I don't want Ramsay or his affections so you are more than welcome to them," she replied, picturing his cold eyes and empty smirk. She had already decided the charm he had shown earlier was nothing but an act. "I want you to keep going about as you did before I was here, so you can drop that concerned act with me. There doesn't need to be bitterness between us when there's enough misery in this castle as it is."

As Elizabeth went back to enjoying the water, Myranda had decided she had sorely misjudged the situation, had misjudged Ramsay's bride. Still, this new information started a kernel of pleasure in her stomach. She didn't want Ramsay. She didn't try to hide her smile as she imagined his face when she told him, hoping that he'd be angry.

She was so deep in her imaginings that she almost missed Elizabeth dismissing her. "Are you sure?" She asked. "I haven't helped you prepare" -

"I can prepare myself," Elizabeth says with a smile. "I thank you though and I hope we have come to an understanding."

Before the lady can change her mind, Myranda hurries from the room as fast as her feet can carry her.

Elizabeth gave a huge sigh of relief when the door closed behind her, sinking even further into the water. She had taken up Ramsay's challenge and had dealt with it, no matter how awkward it was.

Soaking her hair in the water she tried to make sense of exactly why she sent the girl away. It wasn't her intention and when the dismissal sprang from her mouth, she surprised even herself. She meant every word when she told the girl to continue her relationship with Ramsay, so why then did her presence bother her so? She settled on the notion that it was the cruel twist to Myranda's mouth that made her so dislikable and promptly forced the matter from her mind. She had much more important things to think about.

Elizabeth was going to miss her family desperately, her sister especially despite all the things she had said to Ramsay earlier. Anna was annoyingly perfect, but she was sweet, so sweet in fact that it was impossible to feel anything but affection towards her.

Behind her the door opens and closes softly, but she hears it. "What are you doing back here?" Elizabeth asks, not bothering to turn around. "I told you I don't need any assistance tonight."

She stops as hands lift her heavy hair up delicately, before one runs along her shoulder. It's too big and too calloused to be any maid. Before she can turn round, a voice, soft and intimately close to her ear speaks.

"I warned you once I enjoyed inappropriate meetings."

She knows who it is immediately, her heart thudding so hard she worried he could hear it. "What are you doing hear Ramsay?" When she turns, his eyes bore into hers, not delving below despite the skin currently on show that she tries her hardest to cover. "Please leave this is more than inappropriate!"

He laughs, sinking down to her level. "We are to be married," he says, his blue eyes alight. "I'm not the first man to sneak into their lady's chambers and I'm certainly not the last. Besides, you didn't strike me as a girl who cared much about propriety."

His eyes certainly did roam than, taking in everything she hadn't been able to cover, with a smirk. Elizabeth sank deeper into the water, thankful that the suds concealed most of her.

"Get out," she says, more strongly this time.

"No need to get angry, I'm just here to talk, I promise I'll behave myself...if you do." A flash of a smile, his hand resting beside her arm.

"Could it not wait until I'm clothed?" She asks dryly, too angry to be fearful. He doesn't say anything and she can tell he is not about to be deterred. "Very well. I suppose it's too much to hope that you're going to apologise for sending in that girl earlier."

He raised a brow at the edge to her voice. "I didn't think I had anything to apologise for. After all Myranda confided in me that you were far from upset - relieved is how she put it actually. You certainly don't seem relieved to me." Another smirk, this one far too personal for her liking.

"I am relieved. Grateful even that your attentions are diverted"- she breaks off when he moves close behind her, his hand delving back into her hair before travelling slowly across the top of her shoulders. She wants to pull away in outrage and yet at the same time, his touch travels through her in a way that is only pleasant. Disturbed by the sensation and her reaction to it, she goes to move away, but his other hand stops her.

"Do my attentions seem diverted now?" His lips are against her ear, his voice low and wicked sounding as his hand continued to explore, his fingers trailing over her collarbone.

Elizabeth's heart is beating fast with fear, fear and something she doesn't want to name. When his hand threatens to dip lower, she catches it in her hand. "I'll scream," she says, turning her wide imploring eyes to his.

He smiles again, eyes holding hers. "I certainly hope so." Before she can react, he kisses her, his grip too tight to pull away from. It's not long before she doesn't want to.

Elizabeth had been kissed before, but definitely not like this. Those were innocent kisses that gave sweetness and wanted nothing in return. Ramsay's kiss was anything but innocent; while he gave he also took, refusing to accept her as anything but a willing participant. It was the kind of kiss that Elizabeth later supposed her mother would deem unfit for unmarried, well bred ladies.

By the time he moved his lips to her neck, teeth grazing in a way that gave her shivers, she was clinging to him. Her modesty was forgotten, her breasts pressed against his front, and when her arms went to pull him closer of their own accord, she faintly heard him laugh. It wasn't a nice sound but before her senses fully returned, his lips recaptured hers, his tongue demanding her full attention.

Pain, sudden and sharp makes her pull back. When she raises her fingers to her lips they come away with blood.

"That was your first lesson," he says, his eyes and voice holding her. "Don't lie to Myranda and don't lie to yourself. Your unwillingness as a bride doesn't quite ring true when you're throwing yourself at me."

The palm of her hand connecting with his cheek makes an awful sound and for one awful second, she thinks he's going to strike her back.

Staring at his clenched jaw she suddenly wishes she could take it back, all passion forgotten now. But she doesn't stammer out an apology like her fear tells her to. No, Elizabeth stands her ground, trying to look as dignified as possible while covering her body.

She falters slightly when he stands to his full heights and she notices once more how surprisingly broad shouldered he is. She flinches when he leans forward, but all he does is laugh and place a chaste kiss atop her forehead.

"I'll see you at dinner tonight," he says. "If you're not there I'll assume you want to continue what we started and come finish you off." She blanches at his crude words, but before she even thinks of a retort, he's gone.

Speechless, Elizabeth is left staring at the closed door, not knowing what to do or think. When she wets her lips, she tastes blood. Shame is the first thing to pierce through the fog, so complete that it almost chokes her. He had said she threw herself at him, and she can't even say he was lying.

Feeling dirty, she scrambles from the tub and dons a robe, trying desperately to get warm. With shaking hands she wonders if she would have stopped him if had tried to take it further. Would she have shamed herself and her family?

Elizabeth was not unfamiliar with what happens to women who court such shame. Her own cousin was such a woman. She had been courted by a man neither one of her parents approved of. Scared that she would do something stupid, they finalised her betrothal to another man, expecting her to distance herself immediately from her beau. She didn't, and all it took were some pretty gifts and even prettier words and her cousin gave him everything. Apparently her body was all he wanted as afterwards he packed and left, leaving her and her parents to deal with the shame. Needless to say, her betrothed cried away when he heard the news, as did all her friends.

Ramsay hadn't even needed nice words to get her where he wanted, she thought with despair. All it took were seconds and she was his to do with as he pleased, seconds of calculated moves.

The more she thought on it, the more shame began to make way for anger. She remembered his words telling her it was her first lesson in that patronising voice. A lesson as if she were a child. He wanted her to feel shame, and that was almost enough to make her stop feeling it.

Elizabeth didn't dare take her time in preparing for dinner, terrified that he would take her up on his offer and even more scared that he would think she wants him to. Dressed in a gown of deep green, she all but runs down the stairs, her shoes clattering atop the stone floors.

"In a hurry my lady?" It's Lord Roose, making his own way to the hall looking surprisingly tired and tense. On his arm was his wife Walda, who greeted Elizabeth with a warmth that seemed genuine.

"It's good to see you again Elizabeth," she smiles. "I trust you're feeling better?"

"Much better thank you," she replies, falling into step beside them.

"And how are you settling in?"

The question brings to mind Ramsay's cruel eyes. "Very well."

"And I trust things are going well between you and Ramsay?"

Elizabeth and Roose both laughed at that at the same time. Still, politeness forced a response. "Yes he's been very"- she breaks off for the right word, kind seeming ridiculous under the circumstances. "Been very friendly!" She finishes lamely, before blushing deeply.

Friendly. He wasn't friendly when his hands wondered along her body and his lips explored hers. There must have been something on her face because Walda laughed and Roose peered at her intently.

She is saved from embarrassing herself further when they enter the hall and find Ramsay already seated and engaged in conversation with her parents. The sight was an uncomfortable one for her, praying that he kept things polite. She greets her parents first, pausing to kiss them both in the cheeks before finally turning to Ramsay.

He meets her halfway, his hand taking hers. But he doesn't kiss her hand. Instead he leans forward kisses her on the cheek and says, "I can't pretend I'm not disappointed. I'd much rather be enjoying you than food tonight." Despite her anger, his words so wrong and whispered just for her, cause pleasant shivers to skate down her spine.

By the time he pulls away her face is flaming with embarrassment and although no one else heard his inappropriate words, their faces said they had noted the surprisingly intimate exchange. Her mother looked pleased, her father less so.

Clearing her throat, Elizabeth sought to lighten the atmosphere. "It's good to see you again too my lord," she says regally, as if he hadn't been in her chambers not long ago. Trying to look poised, she lets him lead her to a seat, one right beside him. Her parents are seated opposite them, Roose at the head of the table, and Walda at his side.

By the time dinner was served conversation was flowing easily, owing in part to Ramsay being on his best behaviour. He was back to being charming, his smiles frequent and eyes free from any malicious intent. He also ignored her completely.

It bothered Elizabeth greatly that she had so much unspoken anger towards him, couldn't stop thinking about earlier and yet he could apparently dismiss her so easily. Irritated, she snuck a glance up at him, watching as he spoke animatedly.

He looked handsome tonight, even she could grudgingly admit that. Dressed entirely in black, he presented a wicked picture that suited his character.

Once again she was caught in the act of staring, his blue eyes pinning hers. They remained like that for a few seconds, both of them staring but neither one saying anything. Roose cleared his throat loudly, bringing them both back to the present.

"You two seem to be getting along," Roose says cautiously. "Elizabeth even described you as friendly earlier Ramsay. I thought maybe she had gotten you confused with someone else."

Ramsay glances from him and back to Elizabeth, his eyes suddenly alight with what Elizabeth immediately recognised as mischief.

"Friendly?" Ramsay repeats, watching her. "I suppose that's one word for it." The latter is said so intimately that even innocent Elizabeth couldn't mistake it's meaning. She knew that no one else would either.

"What other word would you use?" The question coming from her father was anything but happy, his voice matching his dark expression. Ramsay didn't look intimidated. In fact his answering smile says he's enjoying himself much more now. He leans back in his chair as if completely relaxed, boldly draping his arm along Elizabeth's shoulders.

"You can supply any word that meets your approval my lord." It was said in a mocking tone. The message was clear to everyone at the table, including Elizabeth. She didn't belong to her father anymore, she belonged exclusively to the terrifying man sat next to her.

At the subtle shake of her head, Elizabeth's father doesn't rise to meet the challenge. Instead he settles back in his own chair and with a grumble, reaches for his drink.

As everything falls back to normal, Elizabeth pushes away her untouched plate of food and considers excusing herself from the table. Perhaps she could say her illness has returned. She was about to announce it when Ramsay's hand settled on her knee. She didn't dare try and shake him off, for fear of drawing even more attention to them.

"You didn't strike me for a coward," Ramsay says casually, his thumb beginning to trace small circles on her leg.

"What?"

He looked round to meet her gaze. "If you leave now, I'll take that as an invitation to join you." His voice was low and around them conversation continued as normal. His hand moved slightly higher up her leg, the heat scorching her through her dress. "Although perhaps that's what you want."

Just for a second, a part of her wanted to say yes, wanted to take him up on his offer that his smile promised. What would it be like? A variety of gossiping friends back home, many of them not of the nobility, Elizabeth knew far more about the marriage bed than she knew she ought to. Looking up at him, she knew without a doubt that he would be wild and rough - the type that, according to many of her friends, guaranteed a good time.

Something on her face clearly showed, because the smirk on his was replaced by a flicker of surprise. It didn't last long before it turned to delight. "Is that indecision I sense?" She didn't answer but the blush was telling enough. He leant even closer, his voice even lower. "If you leave, go straight up to your chambers and I'll be there shortly."

"I can't," her voice sounded horrible panicked even to her. With an indelicate shove she pushes him away, but his hand remains. She's back to feeling shame and guilt. She doesn't even like Ramsay and yet she really considered - no she couldn't even think about it. She wouldn't let herself.

Silently, Ramsay watches all her feelings play on her face, her expression absurdly easy to read. He sensed her conflicting emotions, saw her guilt for feeling them and it only made him want her more. How much shame could he fill her with? Even more exciting was the possibility of taking it from her completely, of ruining all those years of gentle rearing and noble virtue. This was turning out to be much more fun than he originally thought.

He removes his hand from her leg, but leans close. "If you change your mind, just come find me and I'd be happy to show you what you've been missing." Her outraged gasp makes him smile, even more than the daggers he was getting from his soon to be in-laws.

Studying Elizabeth's prim little profile, he realised just how much he was looking forward to dirtying it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four**

 **A/N I'm so sorry that it's taken me this long to update! I've finished my studies so I should definitely be more regular for this story. Thank you guys so much for the reviews - the love really helps to maintain the inspiration for this story!**

It was dark and it was cold but though her breath came out in delicate puffs of smoke, Elizabeth felt nothing as she strode through the courtyard trying to inject purpose into her posture. It must have worked for no one bothered her save for a few curious stares thrown her way. She supposed a lady heading towards the stables at night was an unusual sight, especially by herself but she couldn't bring herself to care. All she wanted was to chase away the memory of his lips against hers and the burning of his hand against her thigh.

It was wrong. Sure they were betrothed, but she had known him for less than she had known boys back home and already had engaged in more sinful thoughts than she had ever entertained in her entire life. She didn't even _like_ him so why she was feeling anything but disgust she couldn't hazard a guess. Her friends had regaled her with tales of their own dalliances but even they seemed to express at least a vague sense of attachment to the men. In comparison, Elizabeth couldn't help but wonder what was so different about her?

When she arrived at the stables, her internal confusion halted when her horse was not where she had left it. Instead, it had been stabled at the far back, its head baying back and forth in an attempt to dodge its assailing neighbour. She recognized the black beast instantly. Ramsay's horse. It was fury that carried her forward, fury that propelled her to intercept a bite that was meant for her poor mare's neck. When she failed to shoo the stallion away, it didn't escape her how similar their situation was to her own.

"I don't think she likes him very much." A voice, _his_ voice that she had hoped to escape interrupted the moment. With a sigh, Elizabeth refused to move, to even spare a glance behind her. Still, she took note of the sound of his slow and deliberate footsteps heading towards her. When he came up behind her so close he was almost pressed against her, she realized that Ramsay was not a man who liked to be ignored. "Perhaps she needs to learn to relax a little," he says, his voice close to her ear as he reached out, his hand pressing gently against her horse's nose. For a moment, she allowed herself to admire his elegant hand and to enjoy the sensation of his breath against her neck, but only for a moment.

"Or perhaps your horse is in desperate need of a lesson in manners, just like its owner," she retorts, pushing herself away from Ramsay. If she had hoped to scare him away, she would be disappointed when he smiled lazily at her.

"I didn't think you were all that fond of manners and propriety." When his blue eyes slowly roamed the length of her, she knew immediately what he was thinking, similar images of herself pressing up against him shamelessly came to her as well.

"I can see why you would think that," she said, trying and failing to hide the upset in her voice. "But I'm not like that. I may not be my sister but I don't do things like _this_ ," she finishes lamely, confusing evident in her fidgeting hands.

If he felt at all moved or sorry for her, he didn't show it and neither did he relent. Instead he took a step toward her and brought a hand to her face. He ignored her flinching and raised her delicate gaze up to his. "You don't have to pretend with me. A lady is never what I needed" – when she gasped, he couldn't decide if it were outrage over her position as lady being questioned or his hand on her lower back pulling her closer. Seconds later he got her answer when her dainty hands came up to press against his chest, attempting to push him away.

"And I suppose that's why you have need of that girl you _sent_ to me earlier. I saw you two you know, coming out of here making it painfully obvious to everyone that you two are lovers." That last word came out in an undignified squeak that was enough to make him smile.

"I didn't think you cared at all about that?" He reminded her. "Besides you're completely wrong." Looking up at his handsome face, Elizabeth suddenly hoped that maybe she had jumped to conclusions. Why she held such hopes was beyond her. "We didn't _fuck_ in the stables, we _fucked_ in the kennels."

This time he grabs her hand before the palm connects with his cheek, his laughter and her outrage cutting off quickly when he kisses her. Like the last, this kiss is anything but dull except this time it's Elizabeth that bites his lip harshly, hoping the pain would shock him enough to pull back. He doesn't, and when his tongue touches hers she can taste his blood, can feel his hand move further down her back, pulling her tightly against him. When she finally breaks free, his lips move to her neck instead, teeth grazing against her skin sending her shivers that she tried so hard to repress.

"You disgust me," she forces the words out as his lips start to trail upwards again and they have the desired effect. He immediately freezes, pulling back so his blue eyes stared into her own.

"I disgust you?" He repeated, his tone eerily calm. As she looked up at his perfectly blank face, she decided then and there that she preferred his smirk, so matter how infuriating it may be. "Did I disgust you when you threw yourself at me before dinner? What about when you shivered at my touch in front of your parents no less? What about that moment where I saw you consider taking me up into your room and giving yourself to me?"

"I didn't consider _that._ I'm a lady"-

"So you keep saying, but I've yet to see proof." As if to prove his point, he wiped the back of his hand against his lip, his pale fingers staining with blood and held it up to her. "I'm starting to wonder if you're as innocent as you once seemed."

Aghast and appalled with her own judgement as well as his that allowed her in this scenario, Elizabeth didn't see the wolfish smile on his face before he lunged out to her, spun her around and hauled her back up against his front in one smooth move. His arm around her waist kept her there, his chuckle deep against her ear.

"If you do anything I scream Ramsay," she warned, her fingernails digging into his hand in an attempt to get his grip to loosen. She could see bloodied half-moons forming in his skin but he didn't seem to care.

"And what purpose do you think that would serve? I am Lord here, my men answer to me and besides, they all know well how much I like to make ladies scream."

Elizabeth shuddered at the double-sided implication, the truth of his words sinking in. She was surrounded by _his_ people, what would they care about his dealings with a silly girl from a smaller house? Her thoughts halted immediately when she felt his hand move around her neck, his hand warm but surprisingly gentle against her.

"You're such a pretty little thing. Why do you pretend so much?" His voice had dropped to a whisper, but there was a glint in his eyes that was far too calculated for her nerves.

"Let me go."

"Oh absolutely, I'll let you go as soon as you admit you want me. That you want _this_ ," with that his hand moved down, down between her breasts before it settled on her stomach, his fingers circling around her hip. As he leant down to bite her neck once more, she tried so hard not to let it affect her, but it was hard when his hand continued its path, delving below her hip in a way that could only be described as possessive.

When he raised her face to his and kissed her, she admitted then that she was fighting a losing battle, his tongue brushing against hers in a way that she knew she shouldn't like so much. She tried to turn around, wanting to deepen the kiss but he wouldn't let her. Instead he held her there, at that awkward angle his hand still making its way to her thigh, the heat of his grip searing through her dress.

When he began to move the material up and she guessed his motive, she gave one last attempt at seeing reason by pulling away. "Shh don't pull away now. You were enjoying yourself before, imagine how much more enjoyment I can give you." Against her better judgement and her growing fear, she did imagine it and she couldn't quite repress the kernel of excitement that rose.

Still, this was wrong. She shouldn't, she _couldn't_. "I can't do this."

"Why not?"

"Because it's wrong. Our wedding night"- was all she managed to get out and he gave a breathy little laugh behind her. When he placed a kiss along her collarbone she couldn't help but arch into him.

"I'm not planning on having our wedding night early Elizabeth. There are other things we can do besides that, that can give you pleasure." She wanted to ask what other things but embarrassment stopped her, conflicting embarrassment at asking after such lewd things but also revealing how little she knew about them. She knew he would only mock her for it.

When his hand delved under her skirts and against her leg she jumped, the warmth startling and almost sobering if he gave it chance. Instead he pressed on, his lips and teeth continuing to play along her neck and the corner of her lip while his hand crept up her thigh. When he almost made it to the juncture between her legs and she tensed up, he couldn't quite hold back a laugh.

"Just imagine what it would be like," he said, fingers teasing along the insiders of her upper thighs. "That feeling that's growing here, only I can help with that. And no one would have to know, it would be our little secret." He was right, there was a feeling growing, a deep and warm feeling that was spreading right through her core and God help her, but she wanted more. She wanted to know what this pleasure was that she had heard whispered, and she only had to look at his devious smile to know he could give it her.

This time when his fingers brushed against her again, she tensed but only out of anticipation, not daring to even breathe. Sensing victory, Ramsay smiled behind her, his index finger ever-so-slightly brushing against her core. She gasped instantly, unsure of this new development and her reaction. When he did it again, but slowly this time, only pleasure bloomed and she couldn't help but moan.

"I hope you remember this moment Beth," he says, his voice a whisper-soft caress in her ear. "Remember the moment you proved to yourself how little you can control you desires for me." Finally his words penetrated the lust-induced fog that had seemed to cloud her better judgement and yet she still found herself letting out a moan of disappointment as he pulled back from her. She didn't even understand what it was she wanted.

"Some lady you are," he said, the soft kiss at her temple belying the mocking tone of his voice. Before she could react, he left her there, his harsh departing laugh the proverbial salt in the wound.

Frustrated and confusingly unfulfilled, Elizabeth didn't move, didn't react except to push her skirts back down and adjust herself. Standing there with the cool air teasing her sweat-kissed skin, she was filled with so much shame it was all she could do not to cry right then and there. Somehow however, she held on to that last thread of dignity, refusing to walk outside among men, among _his_ men with a tear-stained face. She hated herself and her weakness, but even more than that, she hated him with a passion that surprised her.


End file.
